


Before The Morning Sun, When Life Was Lonely

by OJared



Series: We're Not Given A Good Life Or A Bad Life, We're Just Given Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Annoyed Castiel, Big Brother Dean, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Im bad, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, as usual, because I'm not good at writing violence or stuff like that, i really don't know how to tag this, i'm bad at that too, if you really squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OJared/pseuds/OJared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had a soulmate mark.  Everyone.  There was no questioning it and they all followed the same pattern. </p><p>Every single one was on the palm of a person's hand.  Every single one was one of five symbols.  Every single one had a name underneath it.</p><p>The symbols were all connected to an angel, each angel representing a personality type.</p><p>Michael, the brave, righteous and loyal warrior.</p><p>Lucifer, the misunderstood, rancorous and beautiful rebel.</p><p>Raphael, the rigid, ruthless and assiduous protector.</p><p>Gabriel, the mischievous, sarcastic and thorough teacher.</p><p>And, Castiel, the kind, intelligent and loyal soldier.</p><p>Of course, every family had it's lineage, and, of course, all Winchester men had the two crossing swords of Michael across their hands.</p><p>Until Dean Winchester.</p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Sam and Dean think they're going to be lonely forever.  Enter; Gabe and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was A Big Big World, But We Thought We Were Bigger

**Author's Note:**

> Title From [7 Years by Lukas Graham](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHCob76kigA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of Chapter from [7 Years by Lukas Graham](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHCob76kigA)

Everyone got their marks when they were sixteen and it was a celebration in most homes.

Dean's family was no different, all of them waiting outside the bathroom with baited breath and as the minutes ticked over to January 24th, they stared at each other, waiting and hoping.

Mary couldn't stop smiling from ear to ear, not really bothered what Dean would come out with.  She loved her baby boy no matter what.

John, on the other hand, was hoping, praying even, that his son would come out with the symbol of Michael.  He loved him no matter what, right?

Sam was just there because there would be cake afterwards, he would have much rather have been down the road playing on Jess' xbox.

Dean sat, red faced, staring at his hand, waiting for the name to appear and, to be completely honest, he was still recovering from the searing pain the symbol of Michael left on his hand.

When the pain started again, he gritted his teeth and held back a smile, keeping his palm closed. 

Eventually, the pain stopped and he opened his hand, his eyes widening as he realised that there was no name there, just two feathers, pure, shimmering white flowing through them, curling up around the swords and panic set in as he recognised the symbol of Castiel.

He had two. No one ever had two.

Dread bubbled up inside him with every minute that passed.  He didn't know how long he was stuck in his little bubble but soon enough he realised that a name wasn't coming and that he could be alone forever.

He couldn't be alone forever.  Dean Winchester was only scared of two things; witches and being alone.

He barely heard the knocks on the door and his mother's worried tone.  The rapping was frantic and he instinctively opened the door, feeling like a little kid.  He wanted nothing more than his mom in that moment.

She pushed the door open, peaking nothing but her head in, bright, blond bun bouncing atop her head as she smiled widely at him until she noticed the look he was wearing.  A look that held almost every emotion; relief, sadness, anger, confusion and most importantly fear.  She still smiled, though.  She always smiled.

"What's the matter, honey?" She said calmly, stepping in and closing the door behind her.  Her voice already soothed Dean, it's warmth flooding through him and  _ maybe things would be okay. _

He showed her his palm and she just kept smiling, said he was different and promised that he would be okay.

Of course, she couldn't hide her worry for long and Dean overheard a phone call between her and Dean's doctor just a couple of weeks later.  His mom sounded in complete panic and he felt bad.  He felt as if it was all his fault and that he was making his parents suffer.

-

Four years later and Dean was still alone, whereas every single one of his friends had met their soulmates.  It no longer saddened the man that he was alone.  If anything, it frustrated him.

He had returned home from college for his brother's sixteenth birthday, praying to a God he didn't believe in that Sammy wasn't like him.  That he would have two swords and 'Jessica Moore' across his palm.

There was a small, only miniscule, part of Dean that wished that Sam was the same.  That he could go up to his brother and stop lying.  Stop telling him that his ex-girlfriend, who died in a tragic car accident three years ago was his soulmate and that he used makeup to cover his mark because the memories it brought upset him too much.

Honestly, he didn't know why he lied.  He didn't know why, or how, Sam believed his elaborate, over-the-top lie but he did.

So, on the night of Sam's birthday, after Sam had been locked in the bathroom for three hours, Dean knew exactly what had happened and he felt like he had been stabbed in the heart.  He could handle it, he was strong but his brother wasn't, his brother had been so certain that Jess was his soulmate.  His heart broke for him as he lifted himself up off of the floor and stepped over to the bathroom door, giving his mom, who had tears gushing down her cheeks, a uselessly reassuring smile.

He knocked, "Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

No answer.

He knocked again.

"Go away." Sam sobbed through the door and Dean could tell he was trying to sound angry.

Dean just sighed, leaning his forehead against the door, feeling hopeless and remembering exactly how this felt.  Except Dean didn't have anyone to speak to, Sam did and Dean was going to make damn sure that he was there for his little brother no matter what because that's what family do.

"It's okay, Sammy," He says, not knowing how else to start, "It's okay.  You can tell me."

He hears Sam sob again and his heart breaks a little bit more.

"It was supposed to be Jess," he cries and a slither of hope slips into Dean's mind.  Maybe it was normal, maybe it just wasn't Jess, but then he continues, "It was supposed to be someone.  Anyone.  Why don't I have a name?"

Sam's voice is weak and Dean wants nothing more than to open the door and hold him tight.  He can see Sam's face in his head, his usual smile broken by the fear and all hope drained mercilessly from him.

"I don't know, kid, but I'm here for you.  I know exactly how you're feeling.  Please open the door."

He's already started rubbing the make up off his hand before he hears the familiar click of the bathroom lock.

He also notices, just before Sam comes into view, that their mom has left, leaving Dean alone to hold his brother, one hand on the back of his head and the other rubbing up and down his back whilst Sam holds tightly to his waist.  They haven't done this in while.  They used to hug a lot when Sam was little and Dean hadn't realised how much he missed it.

"Hey, let me have a look." He whispers and Sam reluctantly lifts his hand.

Scorched across his palm, surrounded by red raw skin, were two feathers, much like Dean's, except red was running through them like venom, seemingly pulsing.  In between the two feathers was an eye, piercing into him, as if it was sifting through all his sins.  Gabriel and Lucifer.

Lucifer.  His little brother shouldn't have Lucifer.  He shouldn't.

Sam wasn't like those people, he was kind and sweet.  Not bitter and hateful.  If Dean had to pick someone to be the complete opposite, it would be Sam.

He knew some people were proud if their siblings or kids got the mark of Lucifer, but Dean didn't get it.  It was like wanting to be in Slytherin.

Sam suddenly pulls his hand away, clenching it into a fist and wrapping his arms around himself, head hung low.

"Hey," He chides, hooking a couple fingers under Sam's chin and forcing him to look up, "It's okay."

He then holds his hand out and Sam looks confused for a moment before his eyes widen, seeing, for the first time, Dean's mark of a combined Michael and Castiel.  A smile flits across his face before the frown settles back in, unpacking it's bags for a long stay.

"At least you got Michael." He states, fingers tracing over the sword, tickling against Dean's palm, making him fidget.

He then looks up, not having to lift his head far to stare Dean in the eye because  _ damn _ is he taller than Dean remembered.  His face is set in permanent straight lines, eyebrows and all, but his eyes, thankfully, still hold a little bit of hope.

-

"I don't like this." He mutters, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.  Pressing his hands together, elbows digging further into his knees as he stares down at the site below him, "It's not fair."

The man next to him nods, not really listening or bothering to watch what his brother is, just wanting to get this over with so he can go back to his work.

"Life's not fair." He mocks one of his brother's stupid mottos back to him.

Said brother knows that it's all a facade, that the guy sitting by him was absolutely terrified as to why he'd been summoned.  Castiel was never summoned.  He worked amazingly and efficiently and whilst punishment was common in heaven (Gabriel was all too acquainted with it), praise wasn't.  Gabriel knew that his little brother did everything he could to make their Father proud but he never expected it to be recognised.  And it wasn't.

"We're here because he's given us soulmates." Gabriel provides, wanting to add a  _ bastard _ to the end but respecting his father too much.  Not that not saying it changed the fact he thought the man was a bastard.

-

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Sam asks, now seventeen, Jess still with a permanent place under the crook of his arm despite the two white-laced feathers running over her palm and the name  _ Brady Johnson _ scrawled below it in the messiest handwriting Dean had seen.

Jess turns her head from the television, curious to Dean’s answer.  He didn’t know when Jess found out about Dean’s mark but figured it was somewhere around the time that Sam came home smiling ear to ear, babbling about how much he loved Jessica because she was  _ so kind and so pretty and just, God, Dean, she’s so understanding.   _ He was surprisingly okay with it, figured if Sam was okay then so was he.

All he does is shrug because he really doesn’t know why he didn’t.

“Just never did.  Dad wasn’t too happy about it, ‘hid it for him and then I guess it was just easier to lie to you.  I don’t think you would’ve understood why I covered it up.” Dean knows he’s lying, underestimating his genius little brother, who probably would’ve been the most supportive.

Sam nods, seeming to accept the excuse, even if he didn’t believe it.

“I,” Jess pipes up, sitting further up and crossing her legs under herself, one leg pressed into Sam’s, “Don’t understand why you’ve got the red feathers.”

Dean noticed that Jess never said Lucifer and it made him like her even more.  They were just white and red.  

Sam brings his hands round from Jess’ shoulder and stares at the black marks, red still pulsing through, just like white pulsed through Dean’s in a way that he knew didn’t with Jess’.  He wants to shrug but can’t, doesn’t want to deny the fact that he’s got a personality akin to satan.  That would be lying to himself.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Sammy,” Dean starts, thumb absently running over his marks, “And Gabriel’s a pretty good mark.  They’re funny people, not that I can say you are.”

Sam smiles a little at that.  Dean had noticed over the past year that Sam was more affected by his marks than Dean ever was.  After all, Dean had two marks that were in the family.  His mom had Castiel’s feathers across her palm and his dad had the swords of Michael.  Sam was alone, left with two marks, one of which was Lucifer’s.

-

Walking down the street, he saw the lanky man bumbling towards him, he’d recognise him anywhere.  It was why he was here, after all.

He carried on walking, looking into windows, occasionally glancing back up to make sure they were still on track and the next time he did, they crashed together.  The mass of books that the guy was carrying spraying out across the pavement.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” He wasn’t, “Let me help.”

He bent down next to where the guy was now kneeling, trying to get a glimpse of the look on his face but he couldn’t see through the mop of hair that curtained his features.

“It’s okay,” He sighs, sounding beyond fed up, “I’m sorry, actually, I wasn’t paying attention.  Who’d’ve thought College would be so tiring?”

Gabriel nods, picking up a book and standing when Sam does, passing it over.

He’d played this situation over and over in his head for the last five years since Sam became his soul mate, knowing he’d pick this exact day at this exact time but he suddenly wants to go back, wants to pick an earlier date.  Or no date at all.

They stand awkwardly before Sam steps aside, muttering something about studying before scurrying off.  With the man’s back to him, he regains some confidence.

“Have a good day and don’t worry, she’s okay.” It was the first thing that came to his head and he’s not even sure if he heard.

Ten minutes later, when he realises what he said, he hits his head on a tree multiple times and wonders whether damage to his vessel’s brain affects him.  He hopes not.

-

Sam had thought the comment was weird, that maybe the guy thought he was someone else and so it wasn’t the first thought that popped into his head the next day when Dean rang him, out of breath, coughing and sobbing over the phone that he _ tried _ .  That they wouldn’t let him go in and that he’d  _ tried _ his absolute hardest to save their mother, but he hadn’t done it and Sam knew it was killing him.  He could feel himself shrivelling into himself the way Dean was, as well.

The first face that popped into his head was Jess’ and he found himself stumbling over to her dorm, not caring about the fact that they broke up a year ago when  _ Brady ‘Damned’ Johnson _ waltzed into her life.  The break-up had been mutual, mostly.  Mainly, it was just Sam agreeing with everything Jess said because he had no right to speak up.

He knocks his knuckles limply against the door, wondering where the bottle of whiskey had come from and who’d open and drank a good portion of it.

The door opens and Jess looks beyond shocked.  Sam catches a glimpse of her soul mark and his starts to weigh his hand down like it was a burden, or a responsibility.  He was lost, it had been only two hours since the call and he already knew he was past help.  His mother was his world, he couldn’t do it without her, knew that Dean couldn’t either.

“Sam, hey.  What’s wrong?” She asks, reaching a hand out to place on the top of his arm.  It’s the first time she’s touched him in a year and it’s not right, it makes him feel uncomfortable and he realises then that Jess was never meant to be his, no matter how much he told himself different.

He doesn’t know what to do now because this was supposed to help, just seeing her, but it’s making it all ten times harder.  Never had he noticed the way Jess’ blonde hair fell just like his Mom’s, or that they had the same kind eyes, full of concern whenever he did something unexpected.

“Um, it’s nothing.  It doesn’t matter.”

And he’s gone, rushing off down the corridor, bottle of whiskey falling from his grasp.  He doesn’t know if it smashes or not, he’s too focused to listen.

-

Dean couldn’t tell if it was sobs he was choking on or smoke, both seemed to linger with him.  His crying hung like fog in the air and smoke like poison in his lungs.

It was strange how the only thing he wanted was the one thing he couldn’t have, could never have.  His chest ached like something he hadn’t even known was there was being ripped out.  Of course, he had known he loved his mother but he had no idea it would hurt this much.  A part of him had always selfishly hoped that he would die first, no matter how unlikely that would be or how painful that would’ve been for his parents.

“Hello?  Are you okay?”

Dean is suddenly being shadowed from where he is sat on a sunny park bench by a figure.  It’s slightly annoying, the sun was the only good thing about the cold, dead November day.  He doesn’t answer, just runs a hand over his face, leaving it resting over his eyes and hopes that the guy will go away.

When the sun starts to shine through his fingers, he chances a glance up and doesn’t see the guy.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He hears and jumps, turning to where the guy is now sat on the bench next to him, about an arms width away. 

He’s no longer a shadow and Dean sees a thick head of black hair and a vexed look.  It’s hard to tell whether or not the look he’s giving him is a glare or if he’s just got a naturally condescending face.

“And since when are you the boss of me?  I don’t even know you.” He grits back, trying to force his tears back.

The guy continues to look at him and Dean feels like he’s being stared straight through.  He then seems to sigh, muttering something about someone owing him something and then reaches a hand out, placing it across Dean’s left shoulder.  It burns slightly, as if they shouldn’t be touching.

“She’s okay.” He says, then pats his shoulder slightly, feigning a concerned look and sympathetic smile.

Dean can only gape as the man stands and walks away, hands swaying slightly by his side, like a child’s would.

-

Sam finds himself sitting on a bench, outside a bookstore, trying to remember the face he saw yesterday.  His mind is very fuzzy and it doesn’t help that he only saw the stranger for a couple of seconds.

_ Don’t worry, she’s okay. _

It swims through his head like an electric eel, occasionally zapping a memory of slicked back, dirty blonde hair into his mind, or strangely warm, syrup coloured eyes.  The feeling is strange, he doesn’t know what exactly it is but he finds himself praying to a God he isn’t sure he likes that the guy regularly comes down to this little row of shops.  Now that he looks around, though, he thinks it’s not likely.

There’s the bookstore, a small place that’s a lot more expensive than the one Sam goes to.  It specialised in first editions and was the only place that had the books Sam wanted.  There’s also a dress shop with wedding dresses of all types displayed in the window and it’s a dull yet dry day so there’s some small mannequins housing small pastel coloured dresses for children.  The sign above the door is patterned with purple curves and reads  _ For The Women’s Adventure _ , Sam thinks it’s a strange name, sounds more like a slogan.  At the very far end is two shops, one a joke shop and the other a flower shop.  Both have displays of flowers out front but the joke shops are all paper and shades of dull yellow and brown to contrast the bright reds, oranges and purples.  Sam thinks it’s hilarious, especially since the flowers outside the joke shop are limp and dead-looking.  It’s also named  _ For The Trickster’s Antics,  _ which makes him laugh more than the flowers had.

He realises he’s laughing and suddenly feels guilty.  He shouldn’t be, his mom just died and he’s sat laughing at a stupid joke shop that isn’t even funny.

“It’s supposed to be funny, laughing isn’t wrong.  Never is, in my opinion.” Sam starts at that, looking up to see the guy that he’d wanted to see.  He can’t believe and does a double take before he realises exactly how much he  _ needed  _ to see this guy, which is unbelievable.  He doesn’t know him.

“Who are you?” He finds himself saying, his voice coming out as more of a whisper than he’d expected.  The guy shrugs, sitting down, leaning back as if they had been friends for years and were just meeting for a catch-up.

“Just a guy.” He says, gesturing with his hand Sam notices that he doesn’t have a soul mark on his right hand.  He wonders briefly what his soul mark would be and after a while of debating between Castiel and Raphael he realises that A-he doesn’t know him well enough and B-he wants to get to know him.

“I’m Sam.” He returns, hoping to spur him to give his name.  He has a feeling that he already knew his name but it isn’t that that creeps him out, it’s the fact that it doesn’t.

He just nods though, pushing his hands into his jean pockets, his beige shirt crumpling beneath his arms.  Coincidentally, his shirt and skin tone are similar and both blend into the back of the bench.

“Gabriel.” He says, taking a deep breath as if admitting his parents had named him after an angel was hard.  It made Sam suspect that his soul mark definitely wasn’t Gabriel.

There’s a look on his face that Sam never expected to see.  He can’t quite figure it out but it seems skeptical.

-

Gabriel is skeptical, he’s realised that he can’t get to know Sam without letting Sam get to know him and that could lead to Sam not wanting to know him.  He wants to risk it,  _ needs  _ to.  He feels like he knows Sam already, but it’s not enough.  Five years of a  _ heaven  _ view was barely considered a relationship.  Heaven would be angry.  His Father would be angry, he knew it but he didn’t care.   _ God _ was the one who gave him Sam as a soulmate in the first place, he couldn’t expect him to sit in his perch and watch, just  _ watch _ , and follow orders.  Especially when Sam was so obviously hurting, and he could see it, could see in Sam’s soul exactly how much he was hurting.  It hurt him, made him want to curl round Sam and protect him from anything and everything that could ever hurt him again, but he didn’t because that probably wasn’t normal or a good start to the relationship he hoped to have.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks, wanting to seem normal but he’s also painfully aware that he hasn’t had a conversation with a human since Jesus was alive.   _ Arrogant ass. _

Sam looks briefly confused before shaking his head.

“Who are you?” He asks again, obviously not satisfied with Gabriel’s previous answer, but he doesn’t stop there, “Yesterday, you told me that  _ she’s okay _ and not to worry and then my Mom dies and I’m worrying because you knew.  You knew she was going to die and you know who I am and I don’t know what to think.  I want to not like you, I want to hate you because you could’ve stopped it but I can’t because I’m sitting here now and I feel okay.  I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore and I don’t even know who you are.”

Gabriel is shocked by the outburst, but reaches a hesitant hand out to rest on Sam’s back.  He tries to think of a way to word his answer, a way to tell him that he’s an angel, an  _ archangel _ , and he’s his soulmate and he’s the reason for all the panic and turmoil caused by his mark.  The pain he sees in Sam’s eyes caused by his mother’s death and by  _ him _ being so stupid and saying what he did makes him not want to say anything.  He wants to just get up and walk away, zap the shop back to the comic store it used to be a few days ago and fly home but then he remembers he  _ can’t  _ and that he needs Sam’s help.  There’s a reason he’s here and guilt rushes through him as he realises he’s being selfish.

“I’m  _ the _ Gabriel.  Like, Messenger of God ‘n’ stuff.”

Sam stares at him like he’s stupid, as if he was sorting through all the mental hospitals he knew of in California.  It makes Gabriel grin because it means that he’s concerned and  _ adorable _ .

-

The grin breaks out across the golden man’s face and he can’t help but return it, looking down with a small laugh and a shake of his head.

“It’s not funny.” He says, looking back up as  _ Gabriel _ raises an eyebrow in question, “The shop,” He gestures to the joke shop behind him, “it’s ridiculously unfunny.”

His smile widens further at that and Sam notices the way his eyes crinkle at the sides and the smile is strange, it’s kind and warm but has a sharp edge that threatens to cut him open with the snap of his fingers.

“You don’t believe me.” He says, as if he expected it and Sam’s not even sure it was him that said it because his face comes to rest exactly the same as it had before, leaving no trace of the accusation.  He sees a flicker of something flash across his features but it’s shredded by his smile before he can identify it.

“Should I?”

“No, probably not.”


	2. Remember To Let Her Into Your Heart, Then You Can Start To Make It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't make it bad  
> Take a sad song and make it better  
> Remember to let her into your heart  
> Then you can start to make it better
> 
> Or the one where Dean needs to do this. For his Mom.
> 
>  
> 
> **PLEASE READ NOTES AT END, THEY ARE VERY IMPORTANT**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of Chapter from [Hey Jude by The Beatles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_MjCqQoLLA)

“Dean!  You can’t be serious!”

Dean sighs, turning to walk away.  He knew she wouldn’t understand.

“Seriously, Dean, this is insane.  After everything this guy did to you!”

His wrist is caught in small, cold fingers with a tight grip.

“Charlie,” He growls out, “I need to.  She would’ve wanted him there.”

She wouldn’t have.  Mary would never have wanted Dean to be hurting like he was just thinking about his father, but Dean knew better.  He knew that no matter what John had done, his mom still loved and would have wanted him to know and have the choice of saying goodbye.  Dean hoped that John would say he couldn’t make it to the funeral, even hoped that he wouldn’t be able to find him.

He turns to the redhead now, trying to use his best puppy dog eyes, but he knows as soon as she cocks a hip and raises an eyebrow that it isn’t working and so he just sighs, turns and walks away.  He needs her to follow, though, because he doesn’t think he can do this alone.

It had been almost five years since he’d seen his father and they hadn’t really parted on good terms.  Bobby was the only person who had kept in touch with him, hence why he was navigating his way through the cars of the scrap yard.

“What are you doing here, boy?  You ain’t workin’ today.” Bobby says as Dean pussyfoots through the maze of scrap material.  Charlie, thankfully, close on his heel.

Bobby was just as much a father to Dean as John had been, especially in the past couple of years.  He felt fear bubble up in his throat as he approached the man now, feeling guilty about wanting to see his father.  

“Yeah, I, uh, I was wondering if you, um,”

“Spit it out.”

“I just wanted to know if you knew where my Dad was.”

Bobby stares at him for a couple of seconds, trying to gauge Dean’s expression.

Charlie takes a step forward then, placing a hand in Dean’s to try and calm his now rapid breathing.  It doesn’t help much but Bobby doesn’t miss it, eyes widening briefly before he reaches his hands up to curve the sides of his cap down.  He looks at Dean again then, sympathy in his eyes.

“Your Mom was proud of you, you know.” He says, picking up a spanner and bending down to tinker with the car in front of him.

Dean sighs, suddenly angry, “I know.  Everyone keeps saying it but I’m not here to talk about my Mom, I want to know where my coward of a Dad has been hiding out for the past five years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a tiny, tiny chapter but I've been working really hard on this story for the past couple of months and I already have the next chapter ready but I want to be ahead of myself because nobody likes a WIP.
> 
> I just ask that you be patient with me because I'm a really slow writer and I'm in a terribly happy and good time in my life and it's so hard to write when you are happy.
> 
> Thank you for understanding, or thanks for reading, even if you don't understand. Just, thanks, I guess.
> 
> Let me know if you do want the next chapter though.
> 
> Kudos and Comments appreciated.
> 
> ~Asher


	3. I Used To Look Into My Father's Eyes, In A Happy Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time  
> I used to look into my father's eyes.  
> In a happy home  
> I was a king, I had a golden throne.  
> Those days are gone,  
> Now the memory's on the wall.
> 
> Or the one where Dean is pleasantly surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not aware of any warnings for this chapter other than minor violence/blood, if you squint.
> 
> This has been read through by just me, all mistakes are mine and if you could make me aware of any in the comments, I will fix them
> 
> Title of Chapter from [Don't You Worry Child by Swedish House Mafia ft. John Martin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1y6smkh6c-0)

If Dean had expected anything, it wasn’t this.  He leaned against the Impala - the only thing his Dad had left behind - staring up at a house.  A normal looking house with doors and windows.  A white porch protruded from the front of the house, framing the shining door mocking him.   The yard was freshly cut, matching all the other freshly cut yards around it, and it was so American Dream that Dean wanted to throw up.  A wind chime dangling from the porch was gently blowing in the breeze.  The soft tingling almost made it feel like a dream, but the pocket-sized nightmare growling the odds from behind the fence one yard over brought it all back and spurred him towards the door.   _ Little dogs could jump high. _

He knocked, but didn’t hear it, his ears were ringing louder than the chimes.

The door opened to reveal a small woman in a white vest and blue pajama bottoms, brown hair done up in a messy bun.  Loose strands curled around her face and framed her features, she was,  _ well,  _ she was  _ hot _ .  There was a creamy stain on her vest but he wouldn’t mention it,  _ he was nice like that _ .  The next thing he noticed after she opened the door was the amazing smell of food, some sort of meat, quietly sizzling away a couple rooms over.

“Can I help you?” Breaks him from his stupor and he looks back to the woman, who looks too happy to be affiliated with whatever image Dean had built of his Dad as a waste-of-space and he starts thinking about whether his Dad had been a better Dad than he chose to remember.

“Um, yeah.  Does John Winchester live here?” He asks but it doesn’t seem likely, this setup is way too normal for his Dad.

“Yes, uhm, come in.  I’ll go get him.”

He follows her to the living room, which is even more normal than the front of the house and he finds himself resenting the fact that his Dad could’ve moved on to such a normal life.  Left his family, his two sons,  _ Sammy,  _ the way he had.  Images of Sam’s tear-stricken face contorting as John yelled at him filled Dean’s throat with bile and had him wanting to run back to the Impala.  He decided he’d wait though.  At least that way, if he did spew, it’d be on his Dad’s lovely  _ cream _ ,  _ fluffy  _ carpet.

She walks off towards the stairs, that are  _ normal _ , and disappears up them.  He awkwardly lowers himself down onto one of the cream sofas, wondering why this woman had left him downstairs on his own.  He could steal anything.  Even the toddler he’s just noticed staring at him from across the coffee table.  He hopes to god that woman isn’t this kids mother.  She just left him alone with a complete stranger, _ for fuck’s sake _ .

“Hi.” He says, waving a hand but the kid doesn’t respond and instead navigates his way round the table and clambers up to the seat next to Dean.

“Do you got a soymate mok?” He asks, holding out a hand, where a temporary tattoo of Spider-Man is printed into his palm.  

“Yeah, I do.  It’s not as cool as that though.” Dean replies, now thinking about whether he’d rather sleep with Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield or Tom Holland.  It was hard, and he ended up scrapping them all and going for Robert Downey Jr., pretending that he actually would’ve had a chance with all of them.

The boy looks up at him with expectant blue eyes and it’s another couple of seconds before Dean realises what he wants and he holds his hand out, the band-aid plastered to his skin just a few hours ago is already peeling.  He’d regretted not having any cover-up makeup this morning and even further regretted that he’d forgot his Dad left because of his and Sammy’s marks.

Little hands are peeling the band-aid away and once he sees it, he gasps and presses a tiny finger against the pulsing white.

“It’s moving!” He says in awe, eyes unbelievably wide.

Dean smiles, glad that the kid wasn’t judging him.

“Adam, what have I told you about other people’s marks?” The woman has returned now and had obviously seen the band-aid hanging from Dean’s hand, “They’re private.”

The kid, Adam, sticks out his bottom lip but slides off the sofa with a mumbled apology and waddles over to a stack of building bricks by the fireplace.

“I’m sorry about that.  John will be down any minute.  Would you like a drink?” She asks him and he gives a small nod, asking for a beer, if she has any.

She returns a couple of minutes later rushing in with a tray of glasses and a jug of water.  There’s two beers dangling from between her fingers and she sets them all down on the coffee table, collapsing into the armchair across from him.

“Oh, Lord, I forgot.  I’m Kate.” She smiles warmly, holding out a hand for him to shake.

He does, “Dean.”

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” He hears and spins to find his Dad, looking like his Dad and not the drunken mess that had left.  Or he’d imagined leaving.  He was starting to think he’d made the whole thing up.

He stands, wiping his sweaty, pulsing palm against his jeans, “Hey.”

John is then walking towards him and pulling him into a crushing hug.

“You should’ve come seen us sooner, boy.” He announces, stepping back with a smile that Dean can’t help but return, “This is my wife, Kate, and our son, Adam.”

Dean turns to look wide-eyed at the boy building a bridge between two of the armchairs and then back to his father.

“Kate, this is my eldest son, Dean.”

Kate’s eyes are the ones to widen now.

“Wow, you definitely aren’t what I was expecting.  You must get your looks from your Mom.” She jokes but it feels like a stab to the heart because it’s only been two days and he can’t remember what she looks like.  He can’t check whether he did get his looks from her and he finds himself struggling to breathe and his mark begins pulsing even more.

“Dean?”

He turns to his Dad and can see genuine worry in his features and he’s missed his Dad.  Tears begin to fill his eyes and blinks to stop them spilling over.

“I missed you.” He breathes out, leaning back into his Dad’s hug and squeezing him back just as hard.

“I missed you too, kiddo.  You’ve grown as well.  Is Sammy doing okay?”

He sees the unspoken ‘ _ Why are you here? _ ’ on his tongue but ignores it, tries to hope that this man is better than the one that left.

Talking to his Dad came just as hard as he’d expected, even if John wasn’t a raging alcoholic living in a shit-hole of an apartment as he’d expected.  Dean was shocked by his reaction to Mary’s death.  A hand had fell on his shoulder and he’d  looked up into sad eyes and his Dad has asked him how  _ he _ was and he nearly choked on his own spit.  He hadn’t been asked  _ how he was _ and he didn’t know.  He wanted to tear his lungs out and curse them for being better than his Mother’s.  He wanted to rip his skin away and burn it so that she didn’t have to. 

When it came time to leave, he was relieved.  His Dad was being too nice, Kate was being too tolerant and Adam was being too damn adorable and Dean couldn’t handle it, making up a quick excuse that he’d already forgotten by the time the front door shut behind him.

He jogged down the steps in front of the house, breathing hard, feeling the weight of his emotions crushing him.  

The sun was setting over the horizon, setting a slight orange tinge to everything and so he had to do a double-take when he saw the man across the street watching him.  It takes a minute for him to realise that it’s the guy from the park the other day.

His heart begins to beat rapidly as his fight-or-flight instinct starts to kick-in and he’s crossing the road towards the guy before he even realises it.  The guy seems to panic for a couple of seconds before schooling his expression and beginning a brisk walk down the street.

Dean’s never been followed before, doesn’t know why anyone would want to follow him.  He has a pretty boring life but, as he speeds up to close the distance between him and the creep he’s following, he starts reading further into things.  He’s always done it.  He always assumes the worst and now he can’t get out of his head the idea that the fire at his childhood home just a few days ago wasn’t an accident.

As he rounds the next corner, he’s grabbed by the neck and pinned against the nearest fence.  Park guy is in his face, looking irate and rabid as a wild animal.

“Stop following me.” He grits between his teeth, giving Dean a tough shove into the fence, a few planks creaking under the force, before letting go.  

That’s when Dean realises he had been held two or three inches from the ground and that he’d probably have finger shaped bruises on his arms the next day.  He breathes heavy as the guy stalks off down the street at an impossible speed.  

“Shouldn’t have fucking followed me.” He grumbles, letting himself pretend that he had a semblance of the upper hand in that situation.  
He wipes a hand down his face, shocked when his hand comes away bloody.  Suddenly unstable, he staggers back against the fence, his mark pulsing painfully in his palm.  It feels as though it’s being torn from his skin, his head thumping angrily.  He tries to fight the curling blackness around his vision but quickly gives up, not noticing the hands hoisting him up and grumbling something about a  _ fat lump  _ before he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like this chapter.
> 
> Tell me what you think!
> 
> What predictions do you have?
> 
> ~Asha


	4. And In Our Souls, We're Standing By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Gabriel and Castiel pay Sam a visit. Sam doesn't know why they're there. Dean doesn't know he's there. Castiel is late. Gabriel is angry that Castiel is late.
> 
> Or,
> 
> The one where Sam doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but his brother is _dying_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No other warnings other than Dean is pretty poorly and minor blood. Gabriel also gets a bit angry but other than that it should be fine!
> 
> Title of Chapter from [Standing By by Pentatonix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CVRtxI58q0)

There’s a knock on Sam’s apartment door, which is strange.  He hadn’t buzzed anyone up nor was he friendly enough with his neighbours for them to pay him a visit.

He contemplates ignoring it and carrying on drowning his sorrows in his tub of ice cream like the angst-filled teenage girl he is but the tapping turns to banging, which turns to shouting.

“Open the  _ fucking  _ door!” And he recognises the voice, which conflicts him even more.

_ One, _ how the fuck does this guy know where he lives?

_ Two _ , why is he trying to punch a hole through Sam’s door?

_ Three,  _ why is Sam still answering the door?

And  _ Four, _ why is Dean hanging off Gabriel all bloodied up?

“The fuck?” He asks, completely forgetting that Gabriel is practically a stranger and lets the guy drag Dean into the living room.

“He was attacked, didn’t know where else to take him.” Gabe,  _ since when does Sam shorten strangers’ names?,  _ grunts, dropping Dean down onto the couch unceremoniously and dusting his hands off like he’d just built a shelving unit from Ikea.

“But, I don’t know you, and you don’t know him?” Sam mumbles, apparently a lot tireder than he’d realised as his brained crawled it’s way to actual sentences that made sense.

It hadn’t yet dawned on Sam that Gabriel had said Dean was  _ attacked _ .  The amount of times Dean had shown up on his doorstep with black eyes, bruised ribs and Beer breath had to be somewhere in the fifties and so the most surprising part about this situation was Gabriel’s presence.

“I do know him.  I know everyone.”  There’s a smirk on Gabriel’s lips as he speaks and Sam definitely  _ doesn’t  _ think it’s cute.

Then Sam remembers the angel thing and realises this guy was serious and actually believes he’s an angel.  The possibility of him being from a mental home sky-rockets and he actually considers calling everyone within a hundred mile radius to see if they have any missing patients.

“Listen, man.  You’re starting to creep me out, maybe you shou-” He’s interrupted by Dean coughing and spluttering, blood spraying out across the floor and his  _ damn _ bowl of ice cream, so much for a night of sulking.

He rushes to his brother’s side, attempting to shake him awake and panic sets in because Dean has never been like this, this didn’t happen in a bar fight.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” He growls, ignoring the hot streams already running down his cheeks as he watches blood pour out of Dean’s mouth at a terrifying rate.  He doesn’t notice the hurt expression on Gabriel’s face.

He reaches for his pocket to grab his phone, but Gabriel is kneeling beside him and grabbing his phone off him before he realises it.  The phone is out of reach and Sam can’t help but let out a cry, he can’t lose his brother.  Not because he trusted this maniac.

“You can’t ring an ambulance.  It’s going to be okay, though.” Gabriel doesn’t sound sure of himself and that makes Sam even more hysterical, gasping for breaths.

“Please, he needs help.  I can’t lose him, he’s all I’ve got.”

“Yep,” He stands, pacing backwards and forwards, “Help.  He needs help.  He shouldn’t need it,” Sam can see anger boiling over, “but he does because  _ Castiel can’t do his fucking job!” _

He shouts the last bit to the ceiling, his foot launching forward and sending Sam’s arm chair flying across the room with a loud crash.  Sam is officially freaked out.  He just wants to curl into a ball and go to sleep, then, when he wakes up, this will all have been a dream.  He’d never have met Gabriel and Dean wouldn’t be dying on his couch. 

_ Gabriel  _ is stood in front of him, shouting to an imaginary  _ Castiel _ because Sam is going insane.  He has to be, it’s the only explanation.  It has to be some sort of religious psychosis.  At least he recognises it, he can’t be that insane, can he?  If he’s aware of his insanity, surely that means he’s not that insane.

But it can’t be a psychosis, because it’s so  _ fucking  _ real.  How do you imagine a man in a trenchcoat appearing in the middle of your living room?

Then the penny drops because this is real and a part of him is relieved he isn’t insane but the other part wants to get up and run, the only thing stopping him is his brother way-too-limply dangling over the edge of his couch and the  _ two angels  _ in his way.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Gabriel is also freaking the  _ fuck _ out because Dean is  _ dying _ and Dean isn’t supposed to die.  Castiel was supposed to make sure of that, was supposed to want to keep the guy safe the same way Gabriel felt compelled to protect Sam, who isn’t helping Gabriel’s little freak out by curling up in a ball and crying.  He swears to his  _ Dad _ that Sam was made with the bravest of angels in mind. 

Castiel still wasn’t here, Dean was still  _ dying _ and Sam was still mumbling sweet nothings to himself and Gabriel just wants to hug Sam, kill Castiel and save Dean.  That’s all he was asking for.

“Brother.” Castiel’s gravelly voice makes him jump and halt his pacing.

“Don’t  _ fucking  _ brother me, Castiel.  You’re supposed to be responsible for this guy.  You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him but you aren’t and so I had to and now it’s all just a God-damned mess.”

Castiel can feel the stress radiating from Gabriel and it makes him a little uneasy but that’s a feeling he completely forgets when dread courses through him at the sight of Dean Winchester half dead on a couch.  He hadn’t ever felt anything like it before and figured that if this vessel had eaten in the last five years he would be regurgitating said food into the mix of blood and carpet on the floor.

“I’m sorry, brother.  I have been otherwise occupied.”  Castiel was sorry that Dean was hurt.  Dean was a part of him, after all, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that what he had been doing was important.  There was also a part of him that knew he’d been given the short straw.  The job he had been doing had taken him so long ( _ and was not yet finished)  _ because it was meant to be Gabriel doing it.  If Gabriel hadn’t have run away, Dean wouldn’t be hurt now.

Gabriel doesn’t even dignify Castiel’s statement with a response, instead just walking over to Sam and sitting next to him, copying his position and trying not to startle him.  Sam tries to scoot away but has nowhere to go and Gabriel feels a pang of pain in his heart at how terrified Sam was, so he reaches over cautiously to Sam’s hand.  He makes sure to make it clear he’s going for Sam’s hand and Sam just stares, eyes flicking momentarily to Dean, who now has Castiel kneeling beside him, a hand on his forehead.   
As soon as Gabriel’s fingers are locked with his, he doesn’t want to move.  A wave of calm and happy rushes over him as his vision whites out, only to be replaced by his mother’s face, staring with nothing but love down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter but also a lot happens.
> 
> The title of this chapter is a bit of a teaser for next chapter! Let me know what you think might happen?
> 
> I'm posting this today instead of Sunday because I'm away this weekend (It's my birthday!!) and figured I'd be nice and post it early instead of late! You're welcome!
> 
> Next chapter is my favourite so far! It gave me so many feelings when I wrote it.
> 
> ~Asha


	5. Still I Make The Choice To Bury My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel might just rebel for this kid.
> 
> Or
> 
> Not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title From [Moondust By Jaymes Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)
> 
> No warnings apply except for general angst because that's all I seem to be able to write.

Gabriel couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  This little bundle below him was going to be a fully-grown man one day ( _ that in itself never failed to amaze him) _ and he had to protect him.  He had been waiting billions of millenia for this moment and it was nearly overwhelming.  

As he reaches down into the crib to lift the boy out, his instincts tell him to let the boy sleep but he can’t.  He’s a  _ baby _ for crying out loud.  Babies are irresistible, especially this one, in which Gabriel  can already see his Grace.  It flickers in the boy’s eyes and shines through his hands, bare palms reaching up to him to grab his face.  Gabriel doesn’t think he can love anything more.

“I’m gonna look after you, kiddo.  I’m gonna make sure you eat all your veggies and grow up to be big and strong.” He coos, letting the boy grab one of his fingers, lost Grace finding it’s home again.

_“You know, when I said that, it wasn’t a challenge for you to grow as tall as you could.”_  

_Sam doesn’t know what’s happening but he laughs, feeling content and at home._  

_ “You grew up to be like a Sasquatch or something.  A Samsquatch.  That’s what you are.” _

He’s older now, holding the bars of his crib to support him on unsteady legs and Gabriel thinks that his nightly visits are starting to mess up this kids sleeping pattern.  He’s supposed to be asleep but seems to know whenever Gabriel is coming.

He reaches his hands off the bar to make grabby hands but immediately falls down, not able to stand on his own yet.

“Ga-Ga.” He gurgles, now grabbing up from his sitting position.

“Hey, Sammy.” Gabriel greets, reaching down into Sam’s crib to pick him up.

The smile on the baby’s face is blinding, quite literally.  It’s full of Grace shining through and Gabriel’s going to have to teach him to control that.

_ “Where are we?” Sam asks, trying but not being able to look around.  His vision is fixed on the scene in front of him, like he’s watching through a television screen. _

_ “It’s your head.  Pretty neat-o, right?” _

_ He tries to turn and find Gabriel, seeing him sitting on the bed next to him.  A bed he’s only just realised is there, in a room he’s only just realised is there.  Gabriel gestures a hand to the room surrounding him and, honestly, Sam isn’t that impressed.  It’s just a motel room. _

_ “Hey, careful.  This is your head.  You want to be in a five-star hotel in New York City then go ahead but this motel room is important.” _

_ Sam remembers it then, noticing the guns on the dresser next to the tv, still showing Gabriel gently swaying a baby.  This was the motel they always stayed in when their Dad brought them hunting.  Sam had never liked hunting but went with them because it was what he was supposed to do. _

_ Just then, a little boy runs in through the door, smiling straight at Gabriel. _

_ “Hey, Gabe!” The boy greets and Sam realises it’s him but he doesn’t remember this. _

_ He looks over to Gabe just in time to see him stand up, but stay sat down, because there’s two of them now? _

_ “That was cool.  I chose to sit where I was sat in the memory so you wouldn’t know I was there.  Awesome, right?” _

“Hey, Sammich.  What’s got you so happy?” Gabriel asks, walking round to sit on the other side of the bed.

“Dad says that I did good!” The little boy grins, walking to sit next to Gabriel on the bed, still not quite able to control the overflowing Grace.  It’s only visible as tiny little flickers in his eyes now, though, and nobody has noticed it yet.

“Really?  What’cha do?” He asks, turning on the bed and crossing his legs.  Sam copies him, turning and sitting fully on the bed so that they’re facing each other.

The boy’s face drops slightly, as he starts to contemplate what he had actually done and whether it was a good thing or not.

“I shot a squirrel,” The nine-year-old says, “but I didn’t really want to.  Dad said I should though.”

Gabe’s heart breaks at the kids sad tone.  He wished he could take all the hurt away, make it so that the kid didn’t blindly follow his father no matter how much he hurt himself.

“You know, you don’t have to always be happy about things your Dad’s happy about.  You are your own person.” 

Sam nods at that, thinking deeply about it.  He loved his Dad, he did, he just wasn’t like him and Dean.  Hunting killed things and he didn’t like that, squirrels were nice, especially when they ate nuts from his hand.  Their sharp and dangerous claws would do nothing but tickle as they picked the nuts from his palm.

“My Dad said that you aren’t real.”

Gabriel just smiles at him because they’ve had this conversation multiple times before and Gabe knows it’s because they spend so much time together that Sam can’t help but mention the  _ Angel that visits him all the time, who’s really nice and gives him candy.  _  Mary had smiled, he’d seen it, she didn’t care if her little boy had an imaginary friend, and, in all fairness, neither did John, but he knew the kid was getting too close.

Gabe knew he should put some distance between them but couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He needed Sam just as much as the kid needed him.

_“I don’t remember any of this.”_ _Sam declares, staring blankly at his younger self._

_ It was strange seeing how much he depended on his Dad as a kid.  All he had ever wanted to do was make him proud, he’d failed at that, obviously, and it bothered more than he’d ever let on.  Dean, after all was said and done, was the Daddy’s Boy. _

_ “Yeah, I know.  I’m sorry.” _

_ Sam is shocked to see a tear roll down Gabriel’s cheek. _

“Dean got his mark.” Sam smiles up at Gabe, wide-eyed and excited, “He won’t show it me, though.  Say’s it don’t matter but I know that’s bullshit,” His eyes drop to his hands now, the smile falling, “I think that Dad doesn’t like whatever it is.  What if that happens to me?”

Gabe’s breath visibly hitches and for all the good times he’d had with Sam, he wished he had been like Castiel.  He wished he hadn’t known until Sam got his mark but he couldn’t go back, Sam, eventually, would have to.

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine, Sammy.  I’ll always be here, promise.” 

Sam smiles up at him again, deliberately ignoring the tears in Gabe’s eyes.

_ “Why?” Is all Sam asks. _

_ “I was never supposed to actually get involved.  Wasn’t even supposed to know you’d been born until you got your mark.  It was too dangerous for you to know me.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ Gabriel’s pretty sure that that is his least favourite word. _

_ “I’m your soulmate.  That means we share Grace.  Normally it’s just the essence of Grace from a random foot soldier, but you’ve got pure archangel juice running through you.  Lucifer, he’s your angel.  Your soul was created from him and if he knew that I, and this isn’t a euphemism, was inside of you,” Sam managed a laugh to match Gabe’s smirk, “He’d want you dead, because he wants me dead.” _

_ Sam didn’t really understand it, but he got the general gist of it.   _ **_Lucifer bad.  Lucifer wants to kill him._ **

“You can’t do this, Gabe, I can’t do this without you.” Sam whispers, tears already streaming as he takes a step towards Gabriel in the small bathroom, cornering him.

“I’m sorry, Sam.  You won’t even notice I’m gone.  It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t want that!” He screams and Gabriel is shocked, only just quick enough to stop it leaving the room and reaching the rest of the house.  He’s fairly certain that Dean and Mary are stood waiting for Sam.  That gives him a little reassurance, knowing that he won’t be alone, “I want you.”

It’s only a mumble and Gabe barely picks up on it.  It breaks his heart in two, his Grace pushing against him, fighting for it’s other half.  He curses his own Father for ever thinking this was a good idea and himself for going through with it, the amount of times he’d wanted to run, grab Sam up and just run somewhere far away were nothing compared to the quite literal tearing that was happening inside him.  This is his job though, protecting Sam.  He just never thought he’d be the one hurting him to protect him.

He surges forward, gripping the teenager in a crippling hug.  

“It’s started.” Sam sobs, gripping his left hand tightly into Gabriel’s jacket and pushing his head down into his shoulder.  Gabe’s hand comes up to the back of Sam’s head and again the ease of flying away makes itself aware and it takes everything in Gabe to do what he has to.  Their Grace flows between them, thrumming unabashedly in the face of being snapped apart.

“You are not alone, Sammy.  You never will be.”

And then he’s gone a nd Sam doesn’t know why he’s crying because his hand doesn’t even hurt that much _.   _

Even after all the pain has dissipated he doesn’t stop crying, the tears just spilling over against his control.  The pain that he felt increased tenfold when he saw his mark.  Red and sore, pulsing with no care in the world.

_ He’s crying, because he remembers that moment so clearly.  The sinking in his heart when he’d looked at his palm, the disbelief and terror settling in his stomach. _

_ But then he remembers the moment before that, the reason he was crying in the first place and it’s not just on a screen.  It’s in his mind and the pain is raw and untouched, but the love is overwhelming.  Gabe had been there through it all and he’d taken it all from him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about how long it had been. I've just been so busy, I just started college and am just so tired all of the time! I've had this written or a while now but just haven't posted it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please comment telling me what you think, I absolutely love comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope people like this.
> 
> It's different to what I normally write but I liked it.
> 
> If you want part two, with more Destiel then let me know in the comments. Also, if you think I should change the rating or add any other tags, let me know.
> 
> Kudos and Comments appreciated.


End file.
